


New Leaf Act

by Ifyouthknew



Series: Earth's Rambunctious Children [5]
Category: Psych (TV 2006)
Genre: All is not lost, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Angst, Authoritarian Regime, Brainwashing, Concentration Camps, Established Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, Flashbacks, Friendship, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Non-Chronological, Romance, Sexual Assault, Sorry Not Sorry, Suicidal Thoughts, Whump, every parent's worst nightmare
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:01:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29235729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ifyouthknew/pseuds/Ifyouthknew
Summary: Lassiter makes an impossible decision at the eleventh hour. Everyone pays the price, especially Shawn. With their homeland turned against them, with an unfathomable distance between them, their hearts remain rambunctious and wicked even though the freedom to say two plus two make four no longer exists. This is not a story about superheroes but little people who yearn for a home.
Relationships: Carlton Lassiter/Shawn Spencer
Series: Earth's Rambunctious Children [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2109414
Comments: 9
Kudos: 10





	1. The Night

**Author's Note:**

> This hurts.
> 
> I had nightmares during the time I wrote the first draft of this story. Even in broad daylight.
> 
> Please proceed with caution.

**Prologue**

It is a hot sunny day in Verona, Italy. Even though it is only midmorning, a shin of sweat has already spread across Lassiter’s forehead.

“Mr. Lassiter—”

“Mr. Lassiter?” Lassiter asks with his eyebrows raised as he sits on his couch, a cup of hot tea in his hands. He is being interviewed—or as he would like to think—interrogated by the young man sitting across the coffee table who has a serious look behind his thick eyeglasses. “Is there really a need to be this formal? Are you going to conduct the whole interview in English? ’Cause I’d be fine if you speak Italian.”

“Yes and yes. It’s a serious topic. And it’s not about me. It’s about what makes you more comfortable.”

“You could’ve chosen a less serious topic for your college thesis. _That_ would make me more comfortable. You can still change your mind, Felix.”

“I chose journalism. I’m not interested in those frivolous things.”

“So you want the big scoop.”

“No. I want _the_ story. _Your_ story. The one you’ve avoided sharing with me my whole life.”

“You’re a kid! It’s not exactly appropriate for you to hear. And by the way, everything’s in your history books.”

“Not everything. They’re just facts. Never anything personal or sentimental.”

“Then pick up a novel.”

Felix sighed. “You promised me an interview.”

Taking a sip of his bitter black tea, Lassiter hisses as the tip of his tongue was almost scorched off. “You’re right. I promised. I just thought I still had a chance talking you out of it.”

“You didn’t. But kudos for trying.”

“I wonder where your stubbornness comes from.”

They both let out a small laugh and turns to glance at the bedroom upstairs.

“He’s not gonna join us today,” Lassiter says. “You know it’s still a struggle for him every day, right? It’s like what they say about alcoholics—once an alcoholic, always an alcoholic. He just makes it seem like a misadventure. And there are good days and bad days.”

“I know. I lived with you guys, remember?”

Lassiter scratches his beard, wiping the other sweaty palm on his pants. Like Felix has chosen journalism as his path for a reason, they have opted not to tell him the story for a reason as well. They want to give him as much of a normal life as possible that is not entangled by their treacherous past. Him growing up like other kids, care-free and happy, has been their priority.

“So which one is it today?” Felix asks. “Good or bad?”

As if hearing the calling, the man they have been discussing pads downstairs dressed in a light orange pineapple-print swim trunk only. Lassiter answers Felix with a wink.

“Lassie, give me a hand, will you?” Shawn says, handing him a bottle of sunscreen. He plops down to the couch next to Lassiter and shoves his back to him.

“Hey, Felice,” Shawn greets, feeling extra Italian today. His eyes land on the notebook spread out on his lap and the ballpoint pen in his left hand. He should own a quill, Shawn thinks. But he would be the last person to buy him one. “Oh…you’re doing that thing today, huh?”

While rubbing the lotion on Shawn’s back, Lassiter assures him again, “You don’t have to be here.”

“How much do you want to know?” Shawn asks Felix.

“The more, the better.”

Lassiter chuckles. “I’m not gonna tell you the whole thing, kid.”

“I’m not a kid! You don’t have to cuddle me,” Felix replies, voice slightly raised. “But that’s okay. You can tell me what you’re willing to tell. The rest—well, I have other sources.”

“Your uncle Gus and aunt Juliet won’t tell a thing without us saying so,” Lassiter says confidently.

“Aha! That’s what you think. But I bet if I beg extra hard this time, maybe even drop a few tears, they’ll come round eventually.”

“Does that trick ever work in journalism?” Shawn asks, sincerely curious.

“I’m not sure.” Finishing the task on hand, Lassiter pats Shawn’s shoulder and puts the cap of the sunscreen back on. “But that definitely has worked for him in the past. Remember the Christmas when he was eight? Gus got him that fancy electric skateboard.”

“Yeah. Your uncle had to get a second part-time job for that.”

“Oh…” Felix darts his eyes across the small living room, surprised and guilted by the brand new information dropped out of nowhere. “I didn’t know that. I thought he was rich.”

“He was clearly more kept together than us,” Shawn says. “But ‘rich’ is a loaded word unless you count carrying the same knockoff Dior briefcase for ten years as rich.”

“That was grown-ups’ problem, not yours,” Lassiter quickly adds as he sees Felix’s face turns cloudy. “We were fresh off the boat so things were bound to be hard at first. But look where we are now. We managed to send you to college, didn’t we, hotshot?”

“Beg away, Fefe.” Shawn springs up from the couch, no resignation in his voice. “Your dad and I are going to the beach right now?”

“I am?” Lassiter puts down the teacup hurriedly. He can’t endure this torturously hot beverage anyway.

“No. No. No!” Felix scrooches to the edge of the armchair, pointing the two sly basterds with his forefinger as a warning. “You promised. Don’t you dare leave!”

But Lassiter has already bounded up the stairs to find his own swim trunk.

“Nice saving.” Felix glares at Shawn who was left alone in the living room with his furious son.

“So stay for lunch?” Shawn brings Lassiter’s tea to his mouth. “Ehh! What is this?! Lava?!”

“If I stay, will you tell me the story?”

“We’ll think about it.”

“You’ve been thinking about it for almost twenty years.”

“We’ll think some more.”

**The Night**

A beam of warm sunlight cast onto the neat desk through the office window. Motes danced in the air before it finally landed on the shiny and impeccably designed nameplate. **Carlton Lassiter** , it said, **Chief of Police**. Lassiter stared at the source of that light, sitting in his chair, trying hard not to blink. Back toward the door, he quickly wiped away any tears that dared to arrive at his cheeks.

Another day and another morning. The Earth kept going around on its course. Yet everything had changed. In the bullpen, detectives, officers, and criminals all stole glances at the hunched back of the distraught man in his own spacious office.

Juliet made her way toward her ex-partner’s office but stopped abruptly before the glass door, a hand inches away from the door handle. “Carlton,” she whispered to herself, “I’m so sorry. I’m so…”

* * *

Last night, Lassiter and Shawn lay on their bed, legs tangled together. Cool drafts from the ocean lifted the bedroom curtains, brushed across their warm skin. Lassiter had insisted the air conditioner was not necessary on a chilly September night when the temperature wouldn’t even surpass 75°F according to the adorable weather girl on Channel eight.

“But Lassie, anything could happen. What if a volcano explodes somewhere?” Shawn pouted as he slid beneath the sheet.

“And you’d survive with air conditioning?”

“Sure. Everyone would be hot outside and we’d—”

“We’d be hot inside.” Before Shawn could make out the devious glint in Lassiter’s eyes properly, Lassiter had lunged at him, straddling his waist, a rumpled thin sheet between them.

As his neck was being attacked by an eager mouth, his sides by a pair of scheming hands, Shawn chuckled loudly and squirmed under Lassiter.

“Shh. We don’t want to wake that little insomniac next door,” Lassiter said under his breath.

For a second, the only sound was the mingled breaths between their abutting lips. Shawn stuck the tip of his tongue out. Lassiter grinned.

Later in the middle of the night, Lassiter woke up to his ringtone. He picked up the phone only after two rings.

“Lassiter.” The green light from the clock on his nightstand told him it was 3:12. He glanced at the man on the other side of the bed who didn’t even stir. Shawn never woke up no matter how many times Lassiter was summoned by the SBPD at these awful hours.

Still, Lassiter took the call outside.

“Gus? Wait. Wait. Slow down.” He ambled into the hallway, his limbs not yet awake.

“I tried to call Shawn but his phone must have died.” Gus’s voice trembled, though Lassiter could tell he was trying his best to remain calm.

“Yeah. For someone who has topnotch memory, he sure forgets to charge his phone a lot. What is it, Guster? This better be something serious enough like you were kidnapped by a mafia and your life is hanging by a thread. Everything else can wait till morning.”

“The bill passed. Three hours ago. I heard it from a friend in D.C. You guys need to pack and leave,” Gus spoked in clipped words.

After a beat, when Lassiter fully took in what Gus had told him, he replied, “Not possible. Sorry, Guster. I don’t buy it. They’ve been crying wolf for a long time now.”

“And the wolf is here! Today! Now!” Gus railed, his voice strained with no more composed demeanor as a disguise. “Pack and leave. I’m coming over to help you. Don’t drive your own car. You can have the Blueberry.”

Lassiter opened his mouth to try to reason with him again when another call came in. Lassiter grumbled. “I’ve got another call. Don’t come here,” he mumbled and hung up.

It was Mayor Powell. Lassiter’s gaze was anchored on his phone screen. The conclusion was easy to draw even with his sleep-deprived fog. Either the mayor’s daughter went missing at this hour, or like Gus had claimed—today had to be the day.

The phone kept buzzing incessantly, followed by a wail coming from behind. He hit the red button before rushing into the room next to his bedroom. Bending his back, he picked up his seven-month-old from the crib. “Shh. Shh. It’s okay. Go back to sleep.” Lassiter rocked from side to side, to and fro, but it was to no avail. “Felix. Felix. Felix,” he repeated his son’s name as he patted his back in rhythm. “Fefe. My Fefe. Daddy’s Fefe. Papa’s Fefe.” He couldn’t think straight whenever Felix cried. The sound clawed his heart.

The phone screamed once more. This time, he answered immediately, afraid Felix was going to protest even louder. “Lassiter.”

“Carlton,” the mayor said grimly, forgoing common pleasantry, “have you heard the news?”

Lassiter continued cooing his son, the phone clamped between his ear and shoulder.

“I was able to get your family off the list,” hearing no response, the mayor provided.

He went still, a rush of joy going through his body like he had just stepped into a jacuzzi. As though sensing the change of atmosphere, Felix quieted down and lifted his head to look at his dad curiously. “Oh, god…Thank you, sir! I don’t know how I ever will be able to repay you. I have to thank you in person. Is it okay we meet you for lunch? I’ll bring Shawn and Felix,” Lassiter blurted out almost in one breath.

Heavy silence at the other end of the phone sent Lassiter clutching the baby more tightly. “Sir?”

“Carlton, you have to know I did everything I could. I pulled every string there is to pull. I’m sorry. It’s just you and your son.” Powell paused. “I can’t help your husband. His name is still on that list.”

Back against the wall, Lassiter sank to the floor into a heap with Felix still in his arms. “No. No. No…” he mumbled, shaking his head furtively. Felix mimicked, “No.”

“This is not a choice. There is no choice. Either this or your son being sent to an orphanage before both of you are tossed to god-knows-where and could even say goodbye to him.”

“I need to go now.”

“You can’t run from them. You have no idea what you’re up against. Live to fight another day, Carlton. Don’t do anything stupid. Remember you have a son.” Powell paused. “They can be there any minute, or so I’ve heard.”

Lassiter planted a kiss on Felix’s forehead. He drifted them back to the bedroom he and Shawn had shared for the better half of a decade. The room was as quiet and dark as Lassiter had left it earlier. The only difference was Shawn had shifted to Lassiter’s side, closer to the door, a smile plastered on his face. Shawn had a habit of laughing himself awake once in a while.

_Could he be dreaming about us?_ Lassiter sat down on the edge of the bed next to his husband. The bed squeaked when burdened the weight of another man and a baby. He vaguely recalled discussing buying a new mattress this week, though this one had accompanied them through thick and thin since they first moved in. It had tasted Lassiter’s sweat after many late nights chasing perps, Shawn’s snots when he caught the flu because he skipped his annual shot, a spilled full cup of green tea when Shawn decided to scare Lassiter from behind, Felix’s pee before Lassiter could smother the source of the fountain with a new diaper, their tears…

_Could he be dreaming about me?_ Lassiter laced his hand through Shawn’s hair. He had to be the one to snatch Shawn out of his dreamland, strip him off perhaps the last amount of happiness.

“Shawn.” Nothing. “Shawn. Please wake up.” He raised his voice.

“It’s still early. You go. I’ll come to the station later,” Shawn muttered, not opening his lidded eyes, not noticing it was the dead of a night.

“Shawn. The bill passed.”

Shawn jolted up on his elbows and locked eyes with Lassiter. “God. You’re not kidding.” He sprang to his feet on the bed, which sank even lower like quicksand that was about to suck them all in. “All right. All right. Don’t panic. I’ll go pack Felix’s things, you ours. Where are the suitcases? You know what? Let me call Gus first. We’ll figure out a plan. Lassie? Don’t just sit there.”

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

“You can tell me when we are on the lam, preferably after we’ve crossed the Mexican border.”

Lassiter did nothing. He sat there. He gazed at Shawn, no life behind his eyes.

Shawn stopped jumping up and down like a kid who was on his way to a scavenger hunt and kneeled on the bed beside Lassiter. He brushed a finger on Felix’s chubby cheek then Lassiter’s. “What’s wrong? I’ll rephrase that. What’s wrong besides the fact that the government is coming for us now?”

“We can’t run.”

“Like hell we can’t! Isn’t this the moment you’ve been preparing for? Your gun is literally lying right there on your nightstand! Lassie, if this is you thinking the law will be on your side again—”

“No. Shawn,” Lassiter interjected, taking Shawn’s hand, “I want you to listen to me now. We can’t run. We’ll get caught. It’s the whole country versus us. We have no chance of winning. Now before it’s too late—”

Shawn parted his lips trying to knock some sense into Lassiter, but he was stopped.

“Will you just let me finish?! Please. Before it’s too late, I just want you to know I love you. Felix loves you. No matter where you are, we’ll miss you. I’ll get you out I promise. Don’t hate me, Shawn. Please don’t hate me. This is not the end. I’ll get you out. I promise.” His voice trailed away, those last few words almost inaudible.

Lassiter clasped Shawn’s neck to bring his face closer and kissed him. Shawn didn’t kiss back. Instead, he sucked in a large chunk of air then breathed out to even himself. Lassiter buried his face in Shawn’s neck, rough stubble grazing soft skin. Shawn asked without pushing him away, his eyes now trained on Felix who looked back without a clue with his big tearful eyes, echoing Shawn’s confusion, his unconfirmed foreboding, “What are you talking about?” His voice was panicky despite himself.

Outside of their house, tires screeched to a halt. They snapped their heads toward the window. Heavy footsteps broke the sticky silence of the night.

“Be brave,” Lassiter made sure Shawn heard his words before releasing his hand, allowing him to go to the window and check the street.

Shawn parted the curtain ajar and peered outside. Lassiter didn’t know what he saw. His eyes only had Felix. Then again, he didn’t have to know—he heard their front door was hammered open with a loud thud.

Without a moment to lose, Shawn slid beneath the bed, covering his whole body with their large mattress. “Lassie! Get down here!” he hissed. “Come on!” he prompted.

Lassiter didn’t move from his spot. Lying on his stomach on the floor, Shawn grabbed his exposed ankle, his always skinny ankle. Lassiter’s breath caught itself. Digging his heels into the floorboards, he didn’t budge an inch.

Footsteps were upstairs. Shawn squeezed his eyes shut, though it was already pitch black under the bed. He dug his nails into Lassiter’s flesh, clinging to his ankle as if it was a life-saving anchor. Lassiter tried. He would have given Shawn any piece of himself if it had meant he could wave away Shawn’s fear right now.

The bedroom door burst open. All three of them flinched. Three armed men dressed in full-body gear poured into their room. Felix started shrieking as loud as he could, his voice hoarse, as he lay his head on his dad’s shoulder, afraid, seeking protection. Lassiter held Felix against his chest as tight as he could, eyes boring the empty wall before him.

Lassiter heard nothing, but at the same time, everything. When Shawn was dragged out from under the bed, it felt like an indispensable part of him was being peeled away. Shawn was forced to release his ankle.

“Let go of me!” Shawn yelped as he tried to yank the pair of hands around his middle away. His arms and legs were flailing everywhere. He tried to grab ahold of anything insight but only managed to knock down photos framed on the wall with his elbows. Glass shattered. It was stepped on by someone. The smiles on those photos remained the same, forever frozen in the past. “Lassie! Help me! Carlton!”

It took little to no time for the three intruders to remove Shawn from the bedroom then his house. In the last few seconds, Shawn was still struggling. He dived, grabbed the front door frame, his knuckles turning pale. “Lassie, please,” he begged, his voice instilled with fear, on the verge of tears, though his husband couldn’t hear him anymore. He was upstairs, in their bedroom, with their son. “Help me.”

~~Shawn Spencer~~


	2. Monster in the Closet

One night when Shawn was seven, he heard a rustle outside of his bedroom window. Then, he is convinced to this day, that he heard another noise in his closet, like a weeping monster trying to find its way out. He did what a seven-year-old would think of as a logical solution. He hid under his bed trembling and praying the monster wouldn’t see him.

“What ya doing there, kid?” Henry’s head popped out near the floor. He was up for a glass of water but wanted to check on his son first, only to find no one was on the bed.

“There’s a monster in the closet,” Shawn told him quietly.

“There is no such thing as monsters in the whole wide world. Come on. Get out of there.”

Shawn complied, then crawled under the blanket immediately with his head and body fully covered.

“If you don’t believe me, let’s open it and check.”

“No!” Shawn shouted.

Hearing the commotion, Madeleine padded into the room. “What’s going on? Are you all right, Goose?”

“I’m not. There is a monster in the closet. Could you two kill it for me? I’d have to move in with Gus if you can’t.”

“Of course we will,” Madeleine said as she plopped down onto the bed, a gentle hand rubbing Shawn’s back. Henry scrunched his face at this placating lie he had to go along with.

“Fine,” he mouthed to his wife as he sat down on the floor. He looked into his son’s eyes. “Yes, we will. If there is a monster, we’d kill it,” Henry said.

“Just go back to sleep. When you wake up in the morning, it’ll be gone,” Madeleine assured him.

“Thanks, Mom. Thanks, Dad,” Shawn mumbled, “Could you stay here with me?”

Henry and Madeleine took a thoughtful glance at each other. As a psychologist and a cop, they could tell you all the cons of co-sleeping with a child, though they differed to a large degree.

Henry sighed, knowing full well his answer would disappoint. “Shawn, we’ll protect you, but you shouldn’t be afraid of facing your monster alone. If you are brave enough to observe it properly, I have no doubt you’ll find you are the stronger one. There is nothing to fear but fear itself.”

As this pair of parents walked abreast back to their room, Madeleine asked, bemused, “Did you just quote Roosevelt and sneak another lesson into the middle of the night? Again?”

In his own bed, Shawn slept peacefully, trusting his loved ones would defeat any monster there was to defeat, believing when he opened the closet the next morning, he would find nothing to be afraid of.

“Goose, time to get up. You are late for school. Goose, get up…” Madeleine’s tender voice was muffled as if it had penetrated another world to reach Shawn’s ears. He drifted awake. At the same time, a shrill almost broke his eardrums. His heart clenched at the sound, which he now recognized as some grating music. This was not another normal morning he had expected. This was a morning when his loved ones hadn’t kept their promise.

His breath sped up as his thoughts trailed back to the night before last night. “Please let it be a dream,” he whispered to himself multiple times before he opened his eyes.

He was lying on the lower bunk of a bunk bed. There was no mattress between him and the wooden bed base. The bed frame was made of gray steel. Hesitantly, Shawn touched it—felt as cold as it looked. He was at the end of an oblong room, five bunk beds tightly stuck together on each of the two longer sides. Twenty people were stuffed in this tiny place, including himself. Twenty men, all in the same blue long-sleeved overalls. Shawn was one of the closest to a small window covered in iron bars, the glass smudged with fingerprints, none of which were his. The actual passage between the two rows of bunk beds couldn’t even allow two people to stand shoulder to shoulder at the same time.

He sat up, looking out of the window. Now when it was not dark outside, he could clearly make out—a chain of mountains, the kind of dark green that was meant to intimidate. The building he was in seemed to be built on a deserted land covered with yellow parched dirt. At the heel of the mountain was a road, then nearer, a gate stretching into the sky, connected to concrete walls with barbed wire on top. Loops after loops, looping him inside.

The music kept blaring, drowning out any thought left in these men’s minds. They all got up, some sitting, some standing, no one talking. Shawn itched to say something. His eyes flitted across the room, observing everyone in sight, yet not holding any gaze.

A pair of thin and long legs appeared and dangled above him. For a moment there, Shawn thought they belonged to Lassiter. Relief flushed through him over those mere seconds when he conjured up the illusion. Then the owner of those legs jumped down onto the floor beside him. A complete stranger who looked nothing like Lassiter. Shawn shook his head at this unspeakable selfish thought. _How could I wish this upon him?_ But the image of his husband also overwhelmed him with rage like a tornado, uprooting his already scant sanity.

_Carlton Lassiter, you fucking piece of shit._

* * *

After Shawn was half-dragged and half-carried out by those three armed men, he was thrown into the back of a truck waiting on the street, wrists tied together in front of him. There were eleven people already inside. Men and women. Young and old. The door was pushed shut when he was still on all fours.

“No!” Shawn banged the board separating them and the driver with his fists. “Hey! Do you know who my husband is?! Let me out right now. Bad guys?”

“They don’t care who your husband is,” an elderly man in the corner informed him. “It wouldn’t even matter if he were the chief of police.”

“He _is_ the chief of police.”

All heads snapped up. Their faces darkened a shade with another layer of hopelessness.

“Like I said,” the elderly man replied evenly. “I’m Ray, by the way.” He reached out an arm trying to shake Shawn’s hand but then realized their hands were both bound.

“Shawn.”

“All right, Shawn, do you know what’s happening here?” like a mentor instructing his protégé, Ray asked patiently.

Shawn hated that patience. He did not wish to know what this old skeleton had known due to his rich life experience. But he still nodded. He did know, as a matter of fact. He tried his best not to know for the last couple of months, but everyone around him, every newspaper, and every channel made that impossible.

“Why isn’t your husband here?” someone asked.

_Yeah, why isn’t Lassie here?_

Leaning the back of his head against the wall, Shawn counted every turn the truck took and the time they spent on straight roads. He knew exactly where he was as he knew the Santa Barbara map like the back of his hand. He wasn’t sure how confident he was that he was able to escape but he memorized them anyway. Just in case for a rainy day. _Dad would want that. Lassie would want that._

“They didn’t take him.” Shawn scratched his forehead with a thumb. “I think he struck some sort of deal so he could keep our son.” Shawn felt nothing other than fortunate that Felix still had a roof over his head. But the feeling of betrayal boiled inside of him, vowing to burn him alive. He couldn’t help but feel Lassiter handed him over like a cooked turkey drizzled with olive oil on a plate. _Here’s my delicious husband. Enjoy._ At that moment, Shawn hated Lassiter more than anything in the world.

The truck made dozens of more stops and soon it was filled with people who had not much in common except for the same crime they had committed. Every time the backdoor of the truck opened, Shawn could see the sky got brighter.

The morning came. It was as sunny and typical an autumn day as yesterday. Warm under the sun, cool in the shadow. But crammed inside a suffocating truck, beads of sweat trickled down Shawn’s face then his neck. _Do you think where I go have air conditioning, Lassie?_

In a railway station, they were loaded into a train, leaving the old lives behind, heading toward a place unknown.

* * *

After Shawn and Lassiter visited New York City, they went back to Santa Barbara with only one thought on their minds—the upcoming arrival of the baby they were adopting. It was on February 14—the first Valentine’s day when they hadn’t their significant other occupying their whole mind since they got together. They flew to Phoenix, Arizona to bring Felix home.

For a month, they rolled in the excitement of being newly sworn-in dads, struggling not to have arrhythmia for sleeping only two hours a night. Tired, but happy and content. 

Near the end of March, flicking through channels while lying on the bed together after finally putting Felix to sleep, Lassiter paused on Channel five.

“ _Breaking news: Earlier this evening, a large explosion happened in Kansas City, Missouri. The fire has now been contained. Up till now, twenty were killed, and thirty-two injured. The officials have launched an investigation. Though still too early to confirm the validity of the video surfaced online an hour after the explosion, the masked man in this video claimed he and his group were responsible._ ”

The video rolled. The aforementioned man wearing a purple bandana started speaking in a metallic voice. “ _I am the leader of…_ ”

“Could this be more clichéd?” Shawn remarked, rolling his eyes at the man on TV. “At least pick a proper mask.”

“You mean a balaclava?” Seeing Shawn’s confused frown, Lassiter added, “Never mind.”

The bandana man continued his speech, “ _We, the Alphabet Gang take full responsibility for the explosion that happened in the city hall of Kansas City._ ”

“What gang?” Lassiter asked incredulously, shooting up straight.

“He said the Alphabet Gang,” Shawn replied, still sounding nonchalant. “It must be other alphabets. Like ABC, NBC, HBO, or ACS. Gus told me ACS is a leading cause of death in America the other day. He was sure of it.”

As if hearing their doubt through the screen, the man in the video picked up a flagpole from the ground. The familiar colorful flag waved at them in the air, warmly, like meeting old friends, taunting too. Never once in their lifetime had a rainbow provoked such dread deep down in their hearts. Turning to face each other, they knew neither of them could apprehend what “the leader” was obviously and unmistakably saying.

“Sweet mother of justice,” Lassiter exclaimed.

“I’ll be damned,” Shawn muttered.

“ _We have been deprived of our human rights. We have been ignored and cast aside by this hypocritical society. We have been stomped on. We have been killed. We have been silent. But today, we rise._ ”

And that happened half a year ago. Little did they know people could change faces in so short a period. Or perhaps they didn’t change at all. No news came regarding the actual investigation. And no one remembered there was supposed to be one. Most people had formed their opinion. Not many were waiting to hear the truth before deciding whether they would hate a group of people—“Hmm, let me have all the facts straight first then I’ll see if I’d like to see all of them as terrorists.”

The last silent six months only functioned as a reinforcement and added fuel to the fire sparkle.

People say time heals all wounds. In this case, time broke the stitches.

One day when Gus and Shawn arrived at the SBPD in the Blueberry, they saw several protesters holding signs and banners on the parking lot. One read: **WE DON’T WANT A FOGGOT POLICE CHIEF**. Another read: **SAVE THE CHILDREN**. One simply had one word on it: **PEDOPHILE!** And another one oddly said: **WHITE REPUBLICAN TRASH.**

As Shawn ran up the stairs leading to the building, willing himself to dismiss them, one man holding a sign “ **GET OUT OF THIS COUNTRY, TERRORISTS** ” bumped into him on purpose.

“How can gays be terrorists?” Gus couldn’t help himself but counter, facing the angry crowd with a resolute expression. “Form a chorus and harmonize people to death?!”

These incidents happened more and more, clouding their everyday life. But what sealed their fear for the future was the time when Shawn and Lassiter were dropping Felix off at his sister Lauren’s place. An egg was thrown onto the windshield of their car, which terrified Felix who had been napping in the back seat. He squalled, making his dads’ hearts twist.

“You’re a disgrace. You people should never be allowed to be around kids,” a gray-haired woman carrying a bag of celeries shouted, who they recognized as one of Lauren’s neighbors. She banged the window on Lassiter’s side.

Lassiter rolled down his window. “Step away, lady. If you touch my car like that one more time, I’ll have you arrested right here, right now.”

Shawn shot him a disbelieving look. “That’s what you have a problem with? Not the fact she basically said we were criminals in front of Fefe after giving us the egg treatment?”

The woman was not backing down. She circled the car and was now on Shawn’s side. “We gave you the right to marry. But that’s not enough, is it? I just knew you are a threat to our country. How many more families are you going to destroy?!”

They both had their hands on the car handles, ready to take Felix inside and ignore her rambling accusation. But other passerby started to gather around their car. The woman filled them in rather quickly. They could only imagine what she whispered in those pricked ears.

“Let’s take the kid!” finally, a burly man yelled.

Hearing those words, Lassiter didn’t waste a second to back the car and took a 180-degree turn, heading in the opposite directions of those savage cavemen, hands tightly gripping on the steering wheel. People dispersed like spooked sparrows as Shawn turned around in his seat to look at them.

“Holy—you could’ve run them over, Lassie! Are you insane? They already see us as the violent ones. And you have to hand over a proof?”

“To be honest, Shawn, I don’t care the slightest how they see us now. If they’re coming for my family, you bet your ass I’ll be violent.”

Shawn paused. “That sounds real sexy. But I don’t want to say ‘I told you so’ when you see the headline on the newspaper tomorrow reading ‘Queer Chief of Police Plowed His Car Into an Innocent Crowd in a Tranquil Neighborhood.’”

“Innocent?”

“They’ll say they’re innocent.”

“I miss those old days when I was just Detective Dipstick…Look, I’ll drop both of you off at Henry’s. Stay with Felix. I don’t want you to come into the station today. No. Just stop coming in for a while.”

“So I’m supposed to hide?” Shawn made a disgusted face. “I won’t hide, Lassie. Guilty people hide. In fact, we are the opposite of guilty. Without Psych, half of those prisoners in Lompoc would’ve walked free.”

“I’m not ditching Psych,” Lassiter said through gritted teeth. “I’m just saying we should lay low.”

“Laying low didn’t help in the past and it’s not gonna help now. What we need to do is to show these people our family is just as normal and caring as theirs.”

The car screeched to a halt, arriving at Henry’s house. Lassiter’s patience almost reached its lowest point. “I don’t think you have grasped the magnitude of these little ‘events.’ The truth doesn’t matter now. Probably never mattered. People have eagle’s eyes for what they want to see and are blind to any facts that might be able to clear our names. Just stay put for now. I’ll come to dinner and we can discuss this later.”

For most days, Gus seemed more anxious than Shawn. “I’m not touting conspiracy theory here, Shawn. But think about it,” Gus said, pacing in their office, “which people are hurt most after that explosion? I heard the government is drafting up a new bill to solve ‘the rising terrorism threat to America.’ You know what was trending on the internet this morning? Hashtag TrueCulprit. People were discussing the possibility that a hate group might have been behind all of this. Some even suggested the government did it and blamed it on—”

“Us? I don’t know, Gus. It sounds too elaborate for such an inept institution. There are too many variables. You have to commit the murder, bury the evidence, predict how people will react, and boil enough fear.”

“Inept but also powerful. Hashtag TrueCulprit was gone within an hour. Just vanished into thin air. They frigging censored it, Shawn. And there is also the fact that I haven’t seen one article taking a different side. Not one! He who controls the language controls the masses!”

“Tell me, Gus, which part of what you’re saying doesn’t count as a conspiracy theory?”

“You just don’t want to believe the government is coming after you and your hard-won happiness will be taken away in a snap of fingers. I know you don’t like to see yourself as belonging to a group of people. I get it, Shawn. But you have Felix now. Maybe you and Lassie should think of an out. Better safe than sorry.”

“I don’t want an out, Gus,” Shawn said grudgingly, his tone whiney, springing to his feet. “I want an in. In to the deepest end. For once in my life, I’m seeing a future. Not present. Future. I see Felix going to a college on the East Coast. I see Lassie and I going to Walmart hand in hand in our sixties. I see whole sorts of boring things that rattle me and invigorate me at the same time. They say love trumps all. Let’s have a little faith, amigo.”

If the bill got passed and became an actual law, the word on the street was, they later learned, that there would be “re-education camps.” Those who had engaged in any sort of homosexual activity were required to “enroll for a necessary period of time.” The actual length would be “uncertain.” The bill also said it would be “voluntary.” If they had a minor child, whether it be biological or not, the child faced a fate of relocation to an institution as well. “Resettlement,” it was called. They all knew what it really meant—an orphanage or another camp. People also had to report these newly deemed outlaws to the local authorities, turning in not only strangers in a café but also their families and friends. All in the name of counter-terrorism.

So ridiculous was this whole idea that few people took it seriously when it was introduced to the public in the corners of newspapers, among waves of unrelated and unimportant news on TV. But it crept its way up to the White House without making much noise.

Then the New Leaf Act was born.


	3. The You-Know-What Camp

It was night-time when the train arrived at its destination. Shawn had given up memorizing where he was since he boarded the train. It was too far from home.

He was moved into the camp in another truck. He didn’t know when he had crossed the gate. He and his fellow companions in the truck were hurried into spacious quarters inside a building waiting for further instructions.

There wasn’t an electric light in the room, only moonlight shined in through high windows, cold, but meant to be soothing. After hours of waiting, the room became more cramped just like in the truck. People either stood or sat on the cement floor. Shawn could make out a stage on the side opposite the large door they were hauled in. Adding hundreds of chairs, this room would be a spitting image of a school auditorium. That thought sent a shiver down his spine. This was supposed to be a school.

Shawn opted to sit on the floor with his wrists still bound together in front of him and didn’t make a sound. It wasn’t that no one hadn’t tried to resist. There weren’t many guards compared to the detainees. The commotion of them fighting back had never ended since he was forced to start this journey. It was the consequences that frightened him, dazing them. Any protestation was ignored in the truck or on the train. But so long as they had a chance to escape, they would be made to comply under a stun gun, sometimes a baton. The guards never lifted their machine guns. They were there for display. That was enough.

The large door squeaked opened one time after another. A guard would step inside and call out a series of names. Shawn saw them walk out and never came back in. Up till now, his mind had conjured up twelve scenarios for their outcome. He was imagining them being beheaded when his own name echoed between walls.

“Shawn Spencer.”

Shawn was frozen on the spot. He didn’t want to go. He felt at least partially safe with his own people, although they were as terrified. He wondered since when he started seeing himself belong.

“Is there a Shawn Spencer here?” the guard called again, tone threatening.

“Hey, son. It’s your turn.” Ray from the truck nudged him with his bony elbow.

Shawn stood up, numb legs supporting his weight. Under hundreds of gazes, he hurried off to the door with several others.

He was led into another small room, which reminded him eerily of the interrogation room in the SBPD. He was pushed down onto a chair. Another man wearing a gray suit and rimless glasses was sitting across the table.

“State your name and date of birth,” the suit said coldly, not looking up from the document splayed on the table.

“Shawn Sp—”

“Louder.”

Shawn cleared his throat, noticing a camera on a tripod was pointing at him in the corner. “Shawn Spencer. March twenty-fourth, 1977.”

“Age?”

“Can’t you calculate that?”

“Religion.”

“Val Kilmer Fan Club.”

The corner of the man’s mouth twitched. Had Shawn seen him under any circumstance other than this, he would have sworn it was a smile.

“Have you ever engaged in a homosexual act?”

“You have to elaborate here. Does holding hands count? A feathery peck on the lips? Locking eyes in the crowd?”

“It’s a simple yes or no question.”

Shawn exhaled noisily through his nose, scornful, almost as though to mock the intelligence of the other in the room. “Yes. Isn’t that why I’m here?”

“Are you currently married to a man?”

“Nope.” Shawn didn’t hesitate to lie.

For the first time, the man in suit peered at him over the top of his glasses. “There is no point to lie. You were married to a man named Carlton Lassiter. You two adopted a child seven months ago. And you also run a private investigator agency with Burton Guster. It’s all on the paper.”

“Then why are you wasting time asking me?”

“Due process. I don’t want to do this any more than you do. I have a family to get back to.”

“Funny how we have very different understandings of those words,” Shawn sneered.

Without a beat, the man asked again, “Have you ever been the receiving end of anal intercourse?”

Shawn snorted, putting up a dry smile. “It’s a rather personal question, don’t you think? You don’t even know what’s my favorite movie or favorite fruit. You want to skip everything and go straight to the meeting-parents part?”

The man backhanded him, calm demeanor all gone within seconds. “I’m warning you. Don’t ever compare me to your kind of people.” Straightening his shirt, he collected himself again. “Last thing: name all the male sexual partners you’ve ever had.”

Sweat burst out in his palms as he prayed the document wasn’t that magical as to know all those things they conducted in the privacy of their own bedroom. Stretching the muscle on his cheek as he stared back, Shawn said, “None. I don’t even have sex with my husband. We took a vow of chastity.” It was the skin that burned. But he would not give the other the satisfaction of him clutching his face in disbelief.

“All right. You better hope no one offered up your name other than Carlton Lassiter for your own good. That way we’ll know you’re lying.” He finished his questioning hastily and looked at his watch. “It’ll take at least five hours at this speed,” he mumbled to himself. “Guard! This one’s done,” he yelled toward the closed door.

The next room was the brightest he had been in. But what was going on here made him want to dash to the door at all cost. Eight men’s hair was being shaved by eight other bald men. Shawn recognized them all as the people led out of the auditorium before him. Different lengths and colors of hair coated the originally gray floor.

The guard grabbed his shoulder and pushed him toward an empty plastic chair, by which side someone was waiting and holding a hair-clipper.

“No. No.” Shawn turned around abruptly, trying to leave. His reluctance got the best of him, ordering his body to get away as soon as possible. Blindly, his nose was met with the guard’s chest.

His head was wrenched backward painfully at an awkward angle as the guard grabbed a chunk of his hair. “Sit.” He kicked Shawn’s knees.

The one holding the hair-clipper looked at him with sympathy. “Don’t worry. It’ll grow out. I’ll do the best I can,” he whispered behind Shawn’s ear, trying to soothe him. Not helping.

Shawn closed his eyes. He didn’t know why he felt the need since there wasn’t a mirror for him to see the result. He gripped the edges of the chair as he heard the hair-clipper being turned on like a tractor on a cornfield, sweeping away a sea of yellow lives. 

Oh how much Shawn loved his hair. He used to grow it out just to be more like Judd Nelson in _The Breakfast Club_. He didn’t remember a time when he was without his hair at least several inches long. One of the biggest tantrums he threw at home when he was a child was to defend the right for his precious hair to exist. Lassiter loved it too. The lingering ghost feeling of Lassiter brushing his hair with slender fingers was the only thing that kept him from an impulsive act.

His hair pooled around his feet. Along with those brown strands fell his past that had built who he was, carrying everything he had owned.

He felt naked when shoved out of the make-shift barbershop, more than when he had to strip bare with ten others in the next stop.

The doctor, at least Shawn assumed that was what he was, judging by the white coat he wore, or a wolf in sheep’s clothing, nodded to himself as he checked several boxes on his clipboard. Their blood was drawn by a male nurse who wouldn’t look them in the eye. _Shouldn’t he be detained too?_ Shawn thought as the needle pricked through his skin. _You know, just in case_.

“The uniforms’ there. Underwears and shoes are included. Put them on,” the doctor said lazily. “Next batch.”

Shawn hastily opened the plastic wrap in front of him as the others did so. The pungent chemical smell made him scrunch his nose. The dark blue overall was too large for him. Seemed like it was the case for most people, one-size-fits-all.

“Shawn Spencer. Room 401, Bed 01.”

So that was what the number was for. Shawn traced his fingers across the white number painted on the left chest pocket— **40101**. He mumbled it under his breath. He had thought if he ever was assigned a number, it would be when he finally became a secret agent. _How James Bond of you now_.

I’d be out of here before long, he thought as he looked out the small and only window beside his bed in Room 401 for the first time. Only darkness was out there, swallowing everything in sight. Cicadas sang tirelessly as if holding onto the last chance before any trace of summer was gone and replaced by harsher but inevitable weather of autumn and winter. Little did Shawn know, he would wake up every day and saw the same scenery outside of the same window for the next three years.

The second his head touched the bed, he was pulled into a blissful dream. Neither was his sleep shallow nor was it fitful, even though the beds in the room were filled one by one throughout the rest of the night. He was tired. And sleeping was the only way he could escape reality.

The next morning when the music stopped blaring, a guard banged the metal door frame with his baton. “Get up! Line up outside within one minute.”

As Shawn and his roommates scurried out of the door, he glanced at the guard’s nametag—Maxwell Taylor.

Shawn found a spot and squeezed himself between two men, back tightly against the wall, mimicking others. Over his head was a digital clock hanging from the ceiling. It was 5:32. The last time he was up this early, there was a dead body; he had a job; he was still a necessary cogwheel in the society. Now, he was nothing.

“Bathroom’s down the hall near Room 412. You will only go in after the room before you go out. Each room’s got five minutes. Copy that?”

Sporadic “yes” jumped out. Shawn only nodded.

“When I say ‘Copy that?’ you’ll answer ‘Yes, sir,’” Taylor hollered. “Copy that?”

“Yes, sir,” tamed voices answered quietly. Shawn couldn’t help but bow his head slightly and looked down to the floor. A pair of shiny boots appeared in his sight.

“Is that the best you can do?” Taylor said in a quiet volume above Shawn’s head. The hair on the back of his neck stood up as he realized Taylor was addressing the question directly to him.

Shawn shook his head immediately, still not meeting the eyes he whole-heartedly believed were hollow. Fellow prisoners next to him made no sound, holding their breaths. Without a warning, Taylor’s hand shot up and closed around his windpipe. Shawn’s hands grabbed the arm in front of him instinctively, intending to shove it away but to no avail, his legs kicking against the wall behind him.

“I don’t remember saying shaking your head is an acceptable answer,” Taylor hissed, hand tightening even when Shawn’s face turned from pale to red then to purple.

At that moment when Shawn was seeing a galaxy of stars and the fog started closing in, he held Taylor’s gaze, only to find he looked like a human, much to his dismay, two brown eyes, a petite nose, his blond hair fresh among the newly-balds. An average joe he wouldn’t take a second look at and nudge Lassiter and say “six o’clock,” if they had met on the street. He wondered, without a focus, whether being blond was a requirement for being a Gestapo.

The hand set him loose. Shawn dropped to his knees and coughed his lungs out. Taylor paced with hands behind his back, addressing others from Room 401. “Be smart. Don’t be like him. The rules here are simple. Follow them then you’ll be fine. I’ll ask one more time.” Taylor stopped in front of Shawn’s crouching form again. “Do you copy that?”

“Yes, sir!” This time, they yelled. Shawn yelled.

What baffled Shawn most when in the bathroom wasn’t how twenty people were expected to finish peeing, taking a shower, brushing teeth under five minutes with only five shower heads on a wall and one wide sink on the opposite. It was the 240 toothbrush cups neatly stashed on a six shelves shelving unit. All the handles had to point in one direction, so did all the toothbrushes and toothpaste. Pointless, Shawn thought. _How ironic_.

It was the first time that Shawn had known when time was of the essence, you could neglect the most obvious of the obvious—he was sharing a showerhead with another naked man. It was his long-legged bunkmate he had mistaken for Lassiter. He turned around, trying to catch the expression of the others. Maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t the only one who was thinking this was too gay.

“You all right?” his bunkmate asked quietly when cold water provided them a protective cover, his eyes flitting to the guard leaning on the door frame.

“Been better,” Shawn answered absent-mindedly. After a pause, he seemed to recollect he had forgotten something important. “What’s your name?”

“Well, today and yesterday and probably would be for a long time—40102.” A smile crept up the stranger’s face.

Shawn hated the joke if it was meant to be one. The bunkmate detected Shawn’s unease. The second before the ring echoed off the walls, he opened his mouth trying to say something more to Shawn. But Shawn didn’t get a chance to hear. Fortunately for him, the five minutes were up, so he didn’t have to say he was 40101 back.

One after another, prisoners piled into the quarters Shawn assumed was an auditorium last night. Today, desks, chairs, breakfast were there to greet him. Shawn didn’t believe for a second they were carried here by those obnoxious guards. Perhaps they were the work of the prisoners who had finished freshen up earlier than them.

It was 6:35 according to another digital clock.

His stomach churned, reminding him of the long-forgotten sensation of hunger. The day might be better off if he had some breakfast or a facsimile of one.

However, everyone in blue overalls who came into the room before him was hovering over those rectangular tables and not sitting down, eyes boring into the two slices of toast and milk below. _It’s a blasphemy—not to have peanut butter_.

Shawn did the same when he reached his assigned spot, his bunkmate across the table from him.

It may have been a force of habit or a momentary lapse of judgment. Either way, 40102 sat down the moment the back of his knees came into contact with the edge of the chair. Despite the fact he shot up as soon as he realized the mistake he had made, Shawn’s heart jumped to his throat and was stuck there for the stranger before him. Perhaps he would be choked like him. Too nervous, Shawn’s toes curled up, almost cutting off the circulation.

“Hey! You,” the man on the stage shouted using a megaphone. Shawn’s heart clenched tighter. His eyes locked with the set of pleading eyes at the other side of the table for a second. _How could I help? I’m sorry._ He didn’t dare to look too long as the mishap earlier still haunted him. The toast, yeah, they were easier to stare at.

Shawn could almost feel 40102 trembling as footsteps came for him. Or was it just him? Shawn didn’t know a room filled with hundreds of people could become this quiet. To his ears, 40102’s rapid and silent breaths might as well have been amplified through another megaphone.

The man with the megaphone was dressed differently from the guards. A black suit, somehow that disgusted Shawn more. He put down the megaphone on the table forcefully. “Did I say anyone could sit?”

“No, sir!” the panicky man answered loudly, not making the same mistake Shawn had made earlier. He had watched and he had learned.

“Did you see I took a seat?”

“No, sir!”

“Then why did you sit?”

“I’m sorry!” he answered quickly. Remembering the rules, he added, “Sir.”

“It’s your fault that these people are standing rather than having breakfast right now.”

Shawn retorted, albeit silently. _His fault? You’re the one keeping us standing._

“First day and already asking for trouble. This is not a place for your lazy-ass attitude.” He picked up the megaphone, continued addressing the whole room, “I won’t show leniency. I will not make exceptions. I’m not soft—”

_Shocking._

“—If I have to set an example for you the first day so you fags could pay just a little bit of attention, I will. Guards! Take him outside. Boys, there’s a lesson to be learned here.”

As they stuffed the toast into their mouths after they were permitted to sit down, they could hear the screams penetrating through the wall behind them. And begging. It remained as the background noise for the whole breakfast time.

It unsurprisingly subdued Shawn’s appetite. But he forced the food down robotically. The screams hadn’t quieted down when he finished. In silence, Shawn screamed as well, as he was broken down to pieces inside. Nausea surged. He clenched his teeth, not allowing his hard work to become a waste.

“Here, have his.” Taylor pushed 40102’s food toward him. “He doesn’t need this anymore.” His overly sweet and mocking voice urged Shawn to vomit all over him. Then again, he would be worse off than 40102 if that ever happened.

Shawn ate the extra food nonetheless. “Good boy.” Taylor scratched the back of Shawn’s ear like he was petting an obedient puppy.

When they were put back into their separate rooms by the end of the day, Shawn saw he had a new bunkmate. Another 40102. He wondered what had happened to the last one in the end. The myth would continue to expand among prisoners as the unknown always inflicts more fear. Those holding the power knew, the underdogs knew. Knowing this didn’t help.

Shawn realized he didn’t even get a chance to know the last one’s name. He thanked every spirit there was to thank that those long legs didn’t belong to Carlton Lassiter.

When the new 40102 asked timidly what was his name, he answered immediately, as though he were to die the next second, “Shawn Spencer. Don’t forget it.”

“No talking!”


	4. All the Lies

“Redemption is found in the most unexpected places,” Mr. Sandy, the one with the megaphone the other day, said with a sick smile on his face. Since then, he had upgraded it to a microphone. Like a stand-up comedian, he monopolized everyone’s attention.

The students were sitting in the auditorium again, all facing the stage, hands on their knees. Mr. Sandy walked between desks, eyeing them with malice as if daring them to oppose anything he said, though it was quite unnecessary since no one dared since the day these classes started. Even a sneeze or a cough was held in until not possible. If they weren’t inside for classes, they were standing at attention outside. The need for stillness applied to both situations.

It was hell for Shawn. He’s always fidgety, especially when he isn’t allowed. He was so in schools outside the gate and the school here was no exception. He would twitch here, scratch there as soon as Mr. Sandy turned his back to him. He knew there was more than one surveillance camera here. Four, to be exact. One in each corner. Shawn was rolling dices. He wasn’t punished the first time he stretched his legs on his seat, so he pushed his luck.

His mind also wandered. He thought about what new shows there were on Netflix, what snacks Gus was having, how Felix was dealing with his absence, or whether Felix even noticed his other father’s absence, and that person…

He could sometimes almost manage to block out what Mr. Sandy was saying completely. But not always.

“We value your lives. We really do,” Mr. Sandy said in a sleek voice. “If you had a country of your own, you could do whatever you want. No one would say anything. But this country belongs to us. It’s just our preference for the tradition. Well, the majority of us.”

_Criminal minds. Criminal minds. Criminal minds…_

“This country doesn’t condone your dangerous lifestyle which inevitably would lead to the eventual self-destruction. Do I believe you’re all terrorists? No, of course not. But I can’t speak for the future. There’s nothing against you, really. You’re all children of this soil. We will not abandon you, cast you aside to fend for yourself. We will save you. Turn over a new leaf and be a new you. So, please, let the New Leaf Act help you. I promise you, you’ll be with your family and friends in no time.”

_Churro. Churro. Churro..._

“You have been students here for a month. And I see you have already gained so much in this school.”

_Fefe. Fefe. Fefe…_

“Tomorrow, there’ll be an inspection. Someone from the committee will come here and you will show them how much you’ve learned and how happy you are to be here. You will treat them with respect. Some of you will need to come on stage and make a speech. Don’t worry. We’ll help you with that. I know we’re pressed for time, but I don’t have any doubt you’ll bring your A-game to this. This event will be taped and broadcasted. Behave yourself.”

_Lassie. Lassie. Lassie…_

“The mayor of Santa Barbara and the mayor of Ventura.”

_Lassie. Lassie. Lassie…_

“And someone who was once one of you, who sought redemption by all means possible will also be here. I want you to listen carefully to what he has to say. Cherish this learning opportunity.”

_Lassie. Lassie. Lassie…_

“It’s not every day you get to meet a chief of police who came out of the other end with…”

_Oh, suck my dick. You gotta be kidding me._

* * *

Every day, eddies of wind would blow away withered leaves, leaving a seemingly spirited tree. The SBPD headquarter was emptier without some of its workers. Men and women, taken to be re-educated.

Police Stations throughout the country were under the tight control of the government. Though a new federal law enforcement agency called PLE, Pure Life Enforcement, was formed to capture the new outlaws, the local police also received crime reports all the time. Strangers called in, saying they saw two men holding hands in a corner. Mothers sauntered into the bullpen, claiming their daughters eloped with another woman. Lassiter would order some of the officers he trusted to turn a blind eye to these reports as much as possible. Discreetly, needless to say. But that didn’t stop the SBPD, under the requirement of the new law, to bring in alleged homosexuals and hand them over before they were thrown into a camp in who-knows-where without conviction.

For Lassiter, he shuffled into the bullpen every day in an empty shell, which only consisted of an empty heart. As soon as he sat down in his chair, he would bury himself in the paperwork, work till the sun went down, then go home to spend time with his kid.

Being what he was, he received all kinds of reactions since the New Leaf Act went into effect, and since the night which would forever remain as his nightmare. The hatred that he married a man. The hatred that he betrayed his man. The praise that he betrayed his man…

Lassiter didn’t think today would be any different because he believed he had been punished enough by his fate. Three men burst into his office without warning.

“Chief Lassiter,” Mayor Powell greeted nervously, his voice alarming. He hadn’t said anything to Lassiter since that night.

Lassiter lifted his head, gaze flitted from the mayor to the other two men.

“Homeland security and PLE. I’m Agent Mall. This is Agent—”

“What do you want?” Lassiter asked, ignoring the extended hand.

Powell promptly filled him in, while Lassiter listened with a deadpan.

“Let me get this straight.” Lassiter leaned forward and put his elbows on the table. “You want me to make a speech about how I’ve changed to those gays and lesbians in the nearby camps.”

“Yes. As a significant part of the committee’s inspection.”

“Why? What’s in it for me?”

The mayor opened his mouth but was cut off by Agent Mall, “Chief Lassiter, to my understanding, you’re only able to sit here today and keep your son because Mayor Powell here said you’d be of use someday. Now, I don’t believe for a second you’ve actually changed, considering your mother’s also a lesbian who has been living in Italy for two years, likely in exile with a woman she married in the states.”

Lassiter stared at the agent but said nothing.

Agent Mall continued contently, glad he wasn’t interrupted, “You have a high flight risk. So you’re still on our blacklist, short of a strikethrough.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Lassiter seethed sarcastically.

“We are not asking here, Lassiter. Prepare your speech. Then we’ll add a little touch here and there.”

Powell looked at him with pitiful eyes and said “There’s nothing I can do” before scurrying off with those two agents.

 _Well, isn’t that the motto of the year?_ Lassiter ground his teeth. In his heart, however, a little butterfly flapped its wings to the point that pink muscle ached. _At least, I might get to see Shawn._

* * *

Lassiter weaved through the hallways in those so-called re-education camps behind a bunch of impeccably suited committee members. He was in a suit as well. So far they had been to five camps, three all-women camps and two all-men camps. He didn’t have the courage to ask in which camp his husband was, as he was afraid to draw too much attention. He didn’t know whether he had missed Shawn among these prisoners or he simply wasn’t there. Anyway, Lassiter hadn’t given up hope. There was one last all-men camp to go. He crossed his fingers. _Just let me see him for a second._

He was on a stage again with hundreds of silent audiences in front of him, their hands draped on their knees, their heads bowed. Five times already, still a shiver went down his spine at the sight of the maximal obedience.

Lassiter’s eyes searched desperately for his husband among these cropped-haired people. Except for skin colors, they all looked the same. He swallowed the lump in his throat and started the speech in a monotonous tone, staring at the script in his hands.

And Shawn listened with brewing anguish that could only be soothed by a miracle.

“I stand before you today a changed man. My journey wasn’t easy. It wasn’t achieved over one night. In fact, it was full of wrong turns and roadblocks. It required hard work, resolution, and discipline.

“I was raised Catholic. Growing up, my church has taught me repeatedly the value and sacredness of a family, which consists of one man, one woman, and their children. I didn’t come here to preach the religion I no longer practiced. I’m here on behalf of your brothers and sisters outside to tell you you can change too. One bad choice doesn’t define your path to the future.

“I was once married to a woman, whom I truly loved. She and I were a family lacking a kid. Unfortunately, we split up due to irreconcilable differences, though I still believe that period was the highlight of my life. I was happy, content, full of hope.

“After my divorce, I was as if had fallen down a cliff. I was grasping straws. Then a man came, extending a helping hand. Although at that time I didn’t know that hand would drag me further down the dangerous, abysmal canyon. He fooled me and convinced me it was love.”

Lassiter swallowed, even though his mouth was dry. This was the last camp. He hadn’t shown any emotion the whole day so he was surprised to find himself struggling to hold back his tears. Prepared and polished words were stuck in his throat. As he looked down at the piece of paper, he noticed his hands were shaking, as though lack of caffeine or high on adrenaline. The silence in the auditorium didn’t help him at all. Taking in a deep breath, he continued.

“He fooled me and convinced me it was love. After two years, we got married. Then came five years of hell. We argued, we fought, we lied. We were incompatible. This man brought out the worst in me. In retrospect, none of what I felt could be called love. Homosexuality was a social disease and an addiction. It was the result of brainwash by a society that was on its downfall.

“Despite the fact that this marriage, if it could ever be called a marriage, was an unhappy one, I adopted a child. I was trying to create an illusion of a full family, but at the cost of bringing an innocent child into a broken home, which wasn’t even a real home since the beginning. I love my son deeply. And I swear to do my best to be the father he deserves. But that can’t be said to my then-husband, Shawn.”

There was no point in stalling. Everything he had said was a lie. But Lassiter still braced for the worst part.

“Shawn is a liar by design. The first day we met, he already lied about being a psychic. But he was a remarkable liar. In all the years we’ve known each other, when I was seeking a family, he was continuing his promiscuity and living a toxic life. My son’s arrival was a hindrance to his rambunctious lifestyle. When I took our sick kid to the hospital, he was wasting away at a bar. When I read my son bedtime stories, he was out flirting with strangers. When I was earning my son’s diaper money, he was gambling in an illegal casino. He wasn’t a good father. He couldn’t be. He’s a victim of the new extremism that propagates immorality and dangerous family values. He was on the brink of self-annihilation.

“But I have every hope that under the new law, the New Leaf Act, Shawn would turn over a new leaf. Now that I’ve changed, my life is better than ever. I wish him and all of you the best of luck.”

Before the pre-arranged applause erupted, a figure stood up among rolls and rolls of uniforms. Within a second, Lassiter locked eyes with this man. The man he had made up unforgivable lies about. Shawn Spencer was like the others around him, a clean-shaven head, a baggy blue overall. But it was unmistakably him. To Lassiter, only he could stand out in a crowd. He doubted Shawn was trying to be the center of attention right now.

At that exact moment, the make-shift auditorium was void except for these two men separated by mere twenty yards. A distance so close yet couldn’t be shortened. Lassiter smiled, for seeing the love of his life once again. He couldn’t help it. But Shawn was tearful. He wanted to charge toward Lassiter and attack him. Hit him. Kiss him. Hug him. Hit him. Then beg him to take him away from this place.

Guards moved fastly toward Shawn, and security went upstage attempting to drag Lassiter out of there. Shawn took off one of his shoes and hurled it at Lassiter’s chest. However childish the move was, he didn’t miss the target.

“You fucking coward!” Shawn’s voice was hoarse, strained. That was a stab to Lassiter’s heart. He didn’t mind anything Shawn would say to him after what he had said to the whole room, though his inside shattered the second he heard Shawn sound so broken.

“You coward,” Shawn repeated, staring at the air between him and Lassiter. The second time, he was as though saying to no one but himself.

Two guards tackled Shawn to the cement floor.

Lassiter couldn’t see him anymore. He panicked, afraid they would physically hurt Shawn. He had only taken one step forward before being held back by Mayor Powell. “Don’t do anything stupid. Think about your kid.” Again with those fucking words. Undisputable words.

Shawn groaned when his arms were wrenched behind his back. Lassiter wasn’t given a choice as he was ushered down the stage and outside the nearest door by security.

“No. Please tell them not to hurt him,” Lassiter pled to the man who was guiding their visit in this camp, Sandy.

“No, of course we won’t,” Sandy said. His uncaring tone convinced Lassiter he was lying. But Lassiter wasn’t in any position to negotiate, even though negotiation was the least he would like to do now, considering Shawn had to be suffering not far from him. What he would like to do was to gouge Sandy’s eyeballs out and squash them beneath his heels.

“Lassiter,” Powell warned, “we should leave now. It’s getting dark outside.”

“Look, he was in over his head,” Lassiter said to Sandy, ignoring the mayor. “He was just too surprised to see me here. We didn’t part on good terms. Give him some time. He’ll figure it out. Isn’t that what your school is for, hmm? Give people a second chance?”

“Chief, with all due respect, you don’t seem like someone who appreciates leniency. I assure you that students here are safer than wherever they may end up if this school hadn’t taken them in—nurture them, protect them. But certain behaviors need to be punished. It’s for their own good.” Sandy flashed a seemingly sincere smile.

“I’ll—” Agent Mall raised a hand before Lassiter’s chest when he took a threatening step in Sandy’s direction. “I promise you these schools don’t physically hurt students.”

Lassiter couldn’t fathom how these people expect him to lie to himself after seeing what was going on with his own eyes. Turning blind on command must have been an acquired ability.

Mr. Sandy met Shawn afterward in his office when the inspection was finally over. To Shawn, the office looked nothing but normal. He had been called into the principal’s office many times before when he was a kid. Every other day he would make a mistake because of him being himself. Now, it seemed like nothing had changed.

Mr. Sandy leaned against the edge of his desk, half-sitting, facing his student who was sitting on a chair with two guards flanking his sides. “Shawn Spencer, is it?”

“Yes, sir,” Shawn answered, staring ahead but focusing on nowhere.

“You were married to that police chief?” Mr. Sandy sounded amused.

“Yes, sir.”

Mr. Sandy tilted Shawn’s head up with his forefinger like a grown-up would to a kid, his thumb trailing gently over the new scrape on Shawn’s cheek caused by the struggle earlier.

Shawn swallowed thickly. A wave of insuppressible sickness rushed through his body. He would disappear into thin air like the first 40102. If not, he would be beaten until his whole body had gone purple like 40107, 40119…He knew because he used the same bathroom with them, every morning, in a rush, too early to open his eyes. Or electrocuted—at least rumor had it—god, how he hoped it was not true. His legs started to tremble at the thought that the chair he was on could very well be used for electrocution.

“Tell me, Shawn,” Mr. Sandy started, “is he any good in bed?”

“I don’t understand, sir.”

“Sure you do. What do you have to gain from being with that man? You know, him being a ‘coward’ and all?”

Shawn remained silent as Mr. Sandy paced behind him, each footstep like a ring from a school handbell.

“What do you have to gain, Shawn? It’s an easy question. Answer me.” Mr. Sandy was uncharacteristically patient.

“From what I’ve learned, um, I was trying to corrupt him and pushing an agenda.” Shawn picked his words carefully. Obviously, Mr. Sandy noticed that.

“You don’t believe that _yet_. All I want is some honesty.” He dismissed those two guards. As the door closed, he continued, “Feel free to be candid. If I don’t know the truth, how can I help you? Come on. There won’t be any consequences.”

 _Yeah, that’s right._ Shawn turned in his seat slightly as Mr. Sandy walked into his view. He was contemplating how to use the fountain pen on the table to decapacitate the man in front of him (not that he would actually do it, but it was always fun to think about) when he saw a startling new look on Mr. Sandy’s face—curiosity. That was unexpected.

Shawn didn’t know what got into him that propelled him to treat this as a real conversation—maybe he missed it desperately, simply to talk, or to hear his own voice, so he answered, “Company.”

“Why not female company?”

“Why not male company?”

Mr. Sandy sat down on his recliner chair. He set his elbows on the table and laced his fingers together. “You see, this is why this ideology of yours is dangerous. You think you can run around this Earth, do whatever you want. But there’re rules.”

“Isn’t this free land?”

“Free is never free for all. Should murderers be free? Rapists?”

“I’ve never hurt anyone.”

“You’ve hurt plenty. You hurt people by simply being there. I think I can speak for your friends and families—you make us _sick_.”

 _Sounds familiar_. A bitter taste rose inside his mouth.

The first time Shawn heard that sentence spoken to him was when he was eight. It wasn’t out of malevolence and he would take a trip down the memory lane to reminisce this spot every so often. To see where the curse started and where the invisible over-burdened backpack began to be permanently strapped on his small frame. He had pneumonia and could only read comics in bed that day. Gus came to check how his friend was doing. More importantly, he announced he had done Shawn’s homework for him.

“Thank you, Gus,” Shawn mumbled with a nasal tone. “You’re the best friend.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Best of the best…”

“All right.”

“Gus, come here.” Shawn extended his arms.

Gus complied, not wanting to disappoint someone with tissues stuffed in his nostrils. After a long embrace, Shawn pulled away, then he cupped Gus’s face and gave him a chaste kiss on the lips. It was no more than a second. He had seen this kind of scene happen on TV countless times before. He was curious about how it felt.

“Shawn—” Before Gus could finish, he sneezed. “You made me sick!”

Shawn smiled brazenly, marveled at the novel feeling rising in his stomach like a butterfly.

“Now I have your germs! If I can’t go to school tomorrow, who’s going to do your homework, you idiot!”

“But how was the kiss though?”

Gus cocked his head up, frowning. “Not bad,” he admitted grudgingly.

Later that night when Madeleine was tucking Shawn in, he smiled at his mother, eyelids heavy, and said, “Mom, I’ll marry Gus someday.”

Madeleine let out a chesty laugh. “All right, Goose. I’m sure you’ll make a wonderful husband.”

Shawn could feel his mom wasn’t taking him seriously. “I’m not joking. I will!”

She brushed a strand of brown hair off Shawn’s sweaty forehead and sighed. The truth was hurtful. Speaking truth to an eight-year-old was not an easy job and she wasn’t prepared. She’d rather leave that to her husband. And it wasn’t surprising that Shawn didn’t say “I want to.” He claimed “he will.” It was just like his kid to be so bull-headed. Who could have the heart to disappoint a naïve child? The world would eventually do that.

“Is it because Gus is black?”

“No, of course not!”

“I thought you’d like to have another son like him.”

“I like him. He’s a very nice boy. It’s just—marriage is complicated. You know, people expect—you’ll understand when you’re older. You should get some sleep, Shawn.” Madeleine then left his son with a goodnight kiss.

Shawn didn’t have to wait too long. Because the next day when he asked Gus-know-it-all about it, he awkwardly told him boys couldn’t marry boys.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. The law says so?”

“Stupid law!”

“Even if we could get married, I wouldn’t marry you.”

“Why not? I’m your best friend!”

“Because I’m in love with Rachel,” Gus replied, ogling the girl with ginger ponytails on the front row with a love-struck face.

“Your selfishness and egotism are the reasons you’re here.” Mr. Sandy paused. “Unlike Lassiter.”

Shawn felt pity rather than anger for the man who was relishing the authority over him. In classes or his office, what terrified Shawn most was how much Mr. Sandy believed in his illogic and how much he was willing to do to make the world better as he wished, to make the world his.

He was a loyal pawn. The actual chessboard was so much vaster. Shawn couldn’t help but think every chessman was against him. Even the man he loved. _Checkmate_. On one hand, Shawn understood deep down that Lassiter had no choice. On the other, he would have signed the divorce paper in a heartbeat right now if this country hadn’t denied their marriage already.

“He threw you under the bus the second he got the chance, didn’t he?” Mr. Sandy tapped the table with his fingers, waiting for some response from Shawn. He didn’t get any. “Before he left, he asked me not to hold back any punishment for your earlier embarrassing behavior during the inspection because of his involvement. The harsher, the better. No leniency.”

Shawn felt as if his stomach ate itself. Detecting lies was his job. He just didn’t know what Mr. Sandy’s next move was.

“But I said no. I told him you’d been very docile before he came here and you don’t deserve punishment simply because he felt called out. I’m gonna go easy on you this time, Shawn.”

“Thank you, sir,” Shawn replied as required. Lying was also his job. Lies after lies. Cutting, like the fountain pen would be if it contacted Mr. Sandy’s carotid. He didn’t know how many lies there would be tomorrow. Probably plenty. How could lies hurt so much when the truth was already hurting him?


	5. Friends and Families

“Carlton! Carlton! Where are you going?” Juliet called after Lassiter who suddenly stopped the car on their way back from a crime scene and got out. She caught up with her partner but didn’t stop him as he charged into a church.

Ever since Lassiter got back from visiting the camps, it seemed like he had been pushed off a cliff. She hadn’t talked to him as a friend for fear of his wrath. No one knew guilt was eating her alive ever since the night when Shawn got taken away.

The church was devoid of people and seemed abandoned. The hollowness of it echoed her racing heartbeat.

“Excellent,” Lassiter exclaimed, standing tall in the middle aisle, Juliet close behind. She thought he was finally going to pour his sorrow out to someone, even though said someone couldn’t answer back in words or in time. At least he had an outlet. But before her eyes, Lassiter pulled his gun out of the holster. Raising his arm high, he shot at the stained window panes on the sides until the bullets ran out.

“Forgive me father for I have sinned.” Teeth clenched, his voice was steely, a roar ringing incessantly in her ears even when the shock had passed.

“What—” she managed to squeeze out.

“Don’t worry,” he said in a calm tone. “No one comes here. No surveillance outside.” Simple. Short. As if getting caught was Juliet’s primary concern right now.

She had believed for a second that Lassiter did what he did because of what he saw at the crime scene—two young female victims, beaten to death, left in a deserted alley. Their hands were entwined even after everything ended in their lives. Each carried a picture of the other in their wallets.

But now, hearing Lassiter’s words while standing beside the debris of shattered glasses, Juliet knew for a certainty this was premeditated.

“Do you want to see something more sacrilegious?” he asked, cocking his eyebrows, like a child ready to perform a magic trick for his best friend. Not waiting for a response from Juliet who didn’t intend to say anything anyway, Lassiter thundered toward the ambo in determined strides. He lifted the opened book that had told him one time after another his love was an anomaly.

It weighed heavy on his hand. Heavier than ever, heavier than when his hand was small and his world small.

“Wish Shawn could see me,” Lassiter mumbled out loud without intending. He flung his arm and threw it across the room. It hit a wall, the thud soothing, palliative.

“I feel better now. Let’s go,” he announced.

Juliet grabbed Lassiter’s elbow as he walked past her, forcing him to stop on his track. “What is this, Carlton?” Juliet sounded tired, and surprisingly to him, a bit timid. “You know the New Leaf Act isn’t under the guise of any religion, right? They don’t do what they do because they have faith.”

_They_. Lassiter laughed bitterly inside. People referred to the new regime _they_. As if uttering the name, you would be dead by spontaneous combustion. No better option was available though. They were the country. They were the government. They were a law. They were the people. They were neighbors. They were families. They were friends.

“I don’t care. It’s the same kind of nonsense that landed my husband in that shithole where no one has _a thing_ to live for! They live like machines! Shawn—your friend—has to learn how fucked-up he is every day!”

“I’m sorry for what’s happening, Carlton. But cruelty knows no religion.”

Lassiter was getting louder, droplets of spits flying off his mouth. “Why are you telling me all this? Do I look like I care?! If you have to focus on the technicality, you know who I hate the most, Juliet? Who I think is the most responsible?”

Juliet knew the answer. She could see it on Lassiter’s face which was now contorted in pain.

“Me,” Lassiter croaked out. “Every minute, every second, the only thing I can think of is how I chose Felix over Shawn that night. His life stopped but mine didn’t. I’ll blame whoever I want to blame.”

“Then blame me!” Juliet yelled. Her words bounced off the walls, pressed down by the ceiling, compelling Lassiter to pay attention. He deserved to know the truth. “Blame me.”

He stayed still. Though he was confused, his breaths became shallower.

“I’m the reason Shawn was in there,” she said before her courage had expired. “I heard the news that the bill passed. I knew this day would come and they’d be prepared for it. I was afraid they’d act soon, so I called Powell. I begged him to use his position to leave you and Shawn out of it. They needed an incentive. I—I told him you guys would be valuable in the future…Something like setting an example that change is possible. He said they liked the idea, but they could only take one name out. Powell didn’t want to make that decision by himself…

“There wasn’t much time. They needed an answer soon. We were on the phone. He kept asking me which name to take out. And he asked again and again—”

“You said my name,” he finished it for her, his voice breathy.

“I said your name.” Juliet met Lassiter’s penetrating gaze. “You’re my best friend, Carlton. I care about Shawn. I hate what’s happening to him. But I had to make a choice. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I know you’d want me to pick Shawn. But I don’t regret what I did. If I were asked to choose again, I’d save you again.”

“Save me? Is that what you think you did?”

Juliet’s throat locked. Tears streamed down her face, not washing away an ounce of her guilty feeling. She shrugged her shoulders.

“That’s the cruelest thing you could ever do to me.” Lassiter turned around, desperately wanting to escape everything here. His car was waiting outside for him. Felix was waiting for him. At last, he looked at Juliet again and told her, “I don’t blame you. At least, I don’t blame you more than I blame myself.”

* * *

After much editing, the news channel finally aired the taped inspection. The goal was to dissipate rumors and show people there were only schools where students were happy to relearn the way to live a life.

Gus went to Henry’s house. If he had to be angry today, he needed to be angry with someone who could share his feelings.

After Shawn became absent in both of their lives, they kept each other company when needed. Gus would come over for dinner when he missed his friend. Henry would bring take-outs to Gus’s apartment when Henry missed his son. And they both babysat Felix when they wanted or when Lassiter asked. Gus would have stopped speaking to Felix’s dad completely if not for Felix. He didn’t forgive him for what had happened that night. Didn’t think he could. And that conviction was strengthened after what he saw on TV today.

In the recordings they showed, students were separated into blocks on a spacious field. They stood at attention, they marched, they jogged, and they chanted slogans: Change is near; change is better; change we shall. Hundreds of people, one action, in one voice.

“This is the most terrifying video I’ve ever seen,” Gus commented with goosebumps standing all over his arms. He would hate to picture how Shawn was surviving this.

“And this is supposed to assure people they’re okay?” Henry gulped his beer.

“More like obedient enough to listen to the authority and not be terrorists. That’s what most people want to see, if they care enough to turn on the TV.”

Then the video showed the dormitories along with commentaries like “clean and neat.”

“There’s no way those sheets have been used before,” Henry pointed out. Looking outside of the window, he added, “This year’s winter is going to be tough…”

The video showed students listening to classes intently.

“ _How to Brainwash an Adult, Volume two_ ,” Gus said sarcastically, nearly gagging.

Then, in the end, there was Lassiter’s speech.

He didn’t remember how he sat silently through it. When it was finished, followed by a round of applause, Gus was raging fire, walking back and forth behind the sofa where Henry sat. “How dare he! How could he do that?! Felix was at Jule’s place that day! Who knew he ran off to smear Shawn’s name in those camps?! I could kill him now!” Gus stopped moving frantically and glared at Henry’s still figure, his crouching back seemingly being crushed down by an invisible weight. “Why aren’t you upset?”

“Because I’m not, Gus,” Henry said. “Not at him.”

“He was making up shitty lies about your son!”

“He didn’t mean it.”

“He let them take him away from their home! When he had a stash of guns!”

“There was nothing more he could do.”

Gus stalked around the couch and turned the TV off. Standing in front of Henry, his eyes roved over the old man. Whenever Gus saw Henry, he looked like he had aged ten years. Despite his charitable words, Henry seemed as distraught as Gus, his elbows digging into knees, face buried in palms. Confusion enwrapped the younger man.

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t understand because you’re not a parent.”

“But I am a friend. I miss Shawn as much as you do. Now I think perhaps more than you.”

Henry steadied his breaths, kneaded the lines on his forehead with his fingers. “When you have a kid, they become your whole life. I know Lassiter. He loves Shawn. I could never look past the fact he wasn’t able to save him. As much as it pains me to say—but I won’t blame a father who chooses to do anything in his power so he could keep his son.”

Gus sank down on the couch. Hesitantly, Henry pulled him into his arms. At that moment, Gus thought he understood, choking for air against the broad chest that was soaked with his tears and snots—if possible, Henry would betray the whole world to keep Shawn safe and warm, just like Lassiter had given up Shawn for the so-called better cause.

He regretted convincing his buddy to have a kid, with every ounce of his being.

At Shawn and Lassiter’s engagement party in the backyard of their house, Henry told Shawn he thought Carlton was a great guy.

“But?” Shawn raised his eyebrows, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Henry turned over the steaks on the grill. “No but. He’s a great choice. No ‘but’ needed.”

“Uh-huh.” Shawn wasn’t fully convinced. Lassiter was chatting with Juliet at the table, a hearty grin was plastered on his face. He rarely allowed himself to be this relaxed. It gave Shawn an unadulterated joy to know he was the one who had made it happen.

“It’s just—” Henry started.

“I knew you have more to say! What is it? Come on, lay it on me. I can take it. He’s too grumpy? Too uptight? Loves his job a bit too much? Too conservative? Worried his guns might be compensating something?”

“I’m just saying.” Henry lifted a hand to stop Shawn. “He looks like he has high expectations for how a family should be. More than you do, I’d say. One day, you may find that you’re the weak link.”

“I’ll take your warning with a grain of salt,” Shawn muttered as he shook the salt shaker and overly seasoned Henry’s steaks on purpose. He wouldn’t, would he? Worry flew across his face which he quickly masked with a neutral expression. It was caught by his father nonetheless.

Henry patted his back. It didn’t feel as encouraging as it seemed.

* * *

The day when Shawn finally decided he would raise a kid with Lassiter was a normal one, Shawn would blissfully recollect. It happened before Lassiter proposed the idea in their fleeting marriage.

There wasn’t any drama. No sudden epiphany. He just saw Lassiter, like all the days before that day.

Shawn was slurping a pineapple smoothie and munching saltine crackers while sitting on the brick red rooftop of his house. It provided him with a full view of the beach. The sun was fading under the water slowly but casting out the last light and warmth it could offer. Waves lapped lazily against the shore as seagulls squawked with boisterous conviviality in the sky. Shawn was beach-gazing. But his focus was solely on one man, an undershirt and cargo shorts flopping against his body.

Lassiter was in a volleyball match with five kids, all about ten years old. One versus five. They sent Lassiter plunging left and right, up and down, his long limbs flailing in the air. Shawn found it quite comical to see Lassiter acting like a competitive yet uncoordinated monkey.

Lassiter’s eyes flitted across the beach and landed on the rooftop. To Shawn, the smile on his face was scenery on its own. He made some gestures to tell Shawn he would win this match. But that wasn’t true. He had tallied the score and Lassiter didn’t have a shot.

When the sun hid its whole body, with little surprise, the other team won by a large margin. Defeated, Lassiter sank down, panting. Shawn chuckled when he read “I’m old” from Lassiter’s lips. The old man lay down and sprawled on all fours, chest heaving when the kids charged toward him like a swarm of newly freed bumblebees. Lassiter remained motionless as they covered him with sand and made him into an octopus.

Lassiter opened his eyes when his enemies were called back to their fortress on the other side of the beach to have dinner. He wiped the sand off, but not before Shawn snuck a picture with his phone stealthily, then stood up. After rinsing his exposed limbs with the seawater, Lassiter went back home.

“It wasn’t a fair game,” Lassiter said as soon as he climbed up the roof.

“It wasn’t fair all right. You’re six foot one. They’re as tiny as Nemo.” Shawn fed his husband a saltine cracker as he sat down beside him, their bare feet touching.

“It was five against one,” Lassiter insisted after swallowing the cracker. It was salty and sweet. The more he chewed, the warmer his teeth and tongue were.

“Whatever you say. You lost to a bunch of kids in a ball game. I’ll keep telling that story till the end of my life.”

Lassiter brought Shawn’s fingers to his lips. He tasted more salt. Shawn turned to face him with a puzzled look. To pay retribution for a lifetime of embarrassment, Lassiter bit one of his fingers gently.

Shawn gasped in surprise. It sent a bolt of lightning into his heart through his arm. Lassiter shot him a mischievous grin as he rubbed the rosy sensitized flesh with his thumb.

“Now we’re even,” he said. But the truth was, Lassiter admitted quietly to himself, it had already been even when Shawn agreed to spend the rest of his life with him. He would gladly endure any kind of ridicule from Shawn and from others, as long as Shawn was there, at day and by night.

Shawn linked their arms together and leaned his head on his husband’s shoulder. It felt like home. It _was_ home. Lassiter and he. On the rooftop of their house. Dinner ready in the oven.

It was at that moment that Shawn realized even though the chance of him being fully prepared to be a father was slim, he knew the new family he had found was good enough for a kid to grow up in. He knew Lassiter was more than ready. Lassiter would have his back.

“A family,” Mr. Sandy said to Shawn and the whole class, “consists of a man and a woman and their children. It shouldn’t be a foreign concept for you. You were all born because you have a father and a mother. No exception.

“This new extreme ideology would like you to believe that you could build a normal, functioning family with a same-sex partner. But that’s not true. A child shouldn’t be exposed to an environment that is addled with twisted, perverted intercourses, that is laden with alcohol, drugs, and violence.

“And it is more unacceptable for you to confuse the next generation by persuading them that a man could fall in love with a man when in fact it is simply the result of your lust and unruly nature. It might be a way for you to rebel against society. But it is inconceivable and unforgivable that you would ever think to bring children into your turbulent life. It is not noble, it is not commendable, whether it be a natural birth, surrogacy, or adoption. If you’re sharing a bed with another man—

“—it is self-serving.”

Felix took his first step today. Time flew without ticking anybody off, creeping up on them, then _boo_! Without any mercy. Lassiter rocked the baby on his lap as he clicked open the folder labeled “US THREE” on his computer. He hadn’t watched these videos in a long time. It was too painful to see Shawn’s face so vivid before him.

Today, he started watching them anyway. Today was special.

In the first video, they threw a baby shower in their living room. Felix wasn’t born yet. It was for receiving gifts. Gus brought bags of diapers. He swore it was the best brand on the market. Henry brought Shawn’s old crib. (“Dad! That’s not a gift! It’s mine already.”) Juliet bought them baby monitors. Vick gave them her old book about baby diet and nutrition, full of hand-written notes, and surprisingly, doodles.

In the next video, Gus was the one holding the camera. They were standing in the kitchen. Felix burped and threw up on Lassiter’s shoulder. Shawn was making chicken soup that looked rather unpleasant. He spooned the hot soup and blew on it. He brought the ladle to Lassiter’s mouth. (“It’s so good. I don’t deserve you.”) The camera suddenly shifted its angle to the floor as Gus lunged forward to have a taste too. (“Meh, I’ve had better.”)

Then, Felix was four-month-old all of a sudden. Shawn was crawling on the bedroom floor with Felix on his back. One of his arms was holding on to Felix’s leg, preventing him from tumbling down. It was one of Felix’s favorite activities. He refused to ride on Lassiter’s back no matter how much cooing but always giggled till he was out of breath on Shawn’s, his drools dripping all over his shirt and floor.

On his lap, Felix pointed the screen with his chubby finger. “Papa.” He tilted his head up and waited for Lassiter’s confirmation, perhaps some praise as well.

_How can he remember?_

“Yes. That’s Papa,” Lassiter whispered into Felix’s soft hair, kissing his head. “You tell him that when you see him, okay? You’ll tell him ‘I love you, Papa.’ Then you’ll tell him ‘You’re the best.’ Papa’s the best. He always has been.”


	6. Risk Management 1

A hand fell lightly on Shawn’s back. He jerked away. The students were in the field, standing, doing nothing. They had two more hours to endure. This winter’s wind was merciless. It cut open their skins and tortured them with throbbing headaches. Shawn felt dizzy as the fog slowly encompassed his sight. He willed himself not to move. But in the eyes of the others, he was swaying wildly with the brutal wind.

“Everything all right?” Taylor, the guard who was always hanging around Room 401 asked, though his tone was devoid of any real concern.

“Yes—” Shawn coughed. “Yes, sir.”

“So weak. Like a pussy,” Taylor said near Shawn’s ears. Shawn couldn’t help but dodge when the hot air reached his neck, creeping into his pores. “This turns you on, man?” Taylor and two other guards nearby laughed.

“No, sir.” Shawn straightened his back instantly.

“No?” Taylor grabbed Shawn’s crotch and pressed his palm down. “How about this?”

Shawn pushed the hand away, eyes wide open yet unable to focus. But this only rewarded him a hard slap on the face and a stun gun on the back of his neck. Lying on the ground in half stupor, he saw everything flash above him—gray sky, sympathetic looks on the fellow prisoners’ faces, other guards’ closing frames toward this commotion.

Taylor bent down and looked into Shawn’s eyes. His hand felt Shawn’s forehead before he turned to his friends. “This one’s got a fever. We should take him to the SHU.”

The last thing he remembered was being lifted into the air and floating before he drifted into unconsciousness.

* * *

Shawn stayed in solitary confinement for a week until his fever and cough had subsided on their own. The camp couldn’t risk he got everyone else sick. _Why?_ Shawn didn’t understand why they cared when they had cared so little so far.

His only human interaction was with Taylor, who would come in, mock him with all sorts of innuendos, then toss him the food. He thought he would have been worse off if no one had talked to him. _Beggars can’t be choosers._ He could stretch his arms and legs in this spacious chilling room, but he would rather go back to the crowded cell occupied by twenty people. It would be cozier and noisier. He preferred to call it his dorm.

This room had a window on the door. Shawn sometimes caught Taylor peering in. Oftentimes, it was leering. In all his days of imprisonment, never had he ever not looked at Taylor’s feature and thought a sheet of nice human skin was being wasted on an evil soul.

Before taking Shawn back to his room, Taylor squatted down beside him who leaned his back on the wall, staving off any movement lest it angered the unpredictable man. “I heard you’re a psychic. Is that for real? What can you tell me about me?”

“Um,” Shawn glanced the man up and down and answered, deciding to entertain him with the information he had gathered so far in the last few months, “you’re married and have a toddler girl. You’ve been having a fight with your wife so she went back to her mom’s with your daughter. And you drive a Volkswagen. Your watch is an heirloom.” _And you’re horny._

Taylor lifted his arm. For a second, Shawn thought he was going to be hit again. But he only squeezed Shawn’s shoulder and smiled, baring his yellow teeth. “Impressive. You know, I’d bring you along to my next party to do this parlor trick again if you weren’t stuck here…” Taylor trailed his hand from Shawn’s shin to his inner thigh.

This time he resisted the urge to escape the touch that made his stomach tumble. “It’s very kind of you to say, sir.”

“It’s just us. You can call me Max.”

“Yes, sir.”

The muscle on Taylor’s jaw twitched. After a beat, he sprang up, sighing. He motioned Shawn to leave and walk back to his room ahead of him. On the whole way back to Room 401, Shawn could feel the gaze behind him tearing him apart.

* * *

“Do you know the whole floor is filled with bottoms?” This was the first thing Danny, aka 40102, said to Shawn after he got back, voice filled with amusement. This was what they had been discussing to pass the time.

“What?”

“Bottoms. Catchers. They just took a guess and thought we were all bottoms.” Danny glanced at the door, making sure the guard couldn’t hear them. “The third floor is for tops.”

Shawn had had his suspicion before, but he never shared it with others, nor was it ever confirmed. “What about the second floor?”

“Monster dicks,” Andrew, 40103 cut in. His bed was the bottom bunk next to Shawn’s. Several people heard the answer and let out suppressed laughs.

“Silence!” a nightguard shouted.

Laughter was a forbidden thing in here. Joy wasn’t allowed. Whenever the prisoners laugh, the people in charge got flustered. Their smile provoked them more than anything. It was like the fact they remained human and were able to show emotions other than fear was a kick in the nuts for those guards.

“This way,” after a while when the not-so-gentle goodnight music had ended, Andrew said under his breath, “we won’t have an orgy in every room. Well, in their logic.”

Shawn drifted asleep with a smile on his face, thinking about the most memorable sex with Lassiter.

At midnight, Shawn was wakened up by Ray, who slept at the other end of the room. “Kid, you’re wanted outside.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Just hurry.” Ray shuffled back to his bed near the door, shooting him worried glances. Shawn followed him down the passage and stood behind the barred door.

Taylor greeted him with a huge grin. “Ah, Shawn. Walk with me.” Shawn’s legs moved on their own accord, leaving his dorm. What could he have done otherwise? Disobey? As he walked in the corridor, Taylor was one step behind him again, always on alert.

“Where are we going, sir?”

“Shut up. You’ll know.”

Taylor led them to the parking lot. They stopped near a Volkswagen. He tossed a pair of handcuffs to Shawn, drawing his handgun out. “Put them on your wrists. Behind your back.”

“I don’t understand.” Shawn lied. He knew perfectly well what Taylor wanted from him. There was an idea liberating enough to make Shawn’s ears buzz, all his surrounding dull—if he played his card right, he had a chance of getting out.

Taylor now was carelessly aiming the gun at his head, eyes shifting, afraid of getting caught. “Put it on and get in the backseat, then cover yourself with that tarp.” By then, he still had a ruler in his head.

Shawn complied. Waves of emotions rose inside him. Fear. Panic. Ecstasy. When the camp was left behind by them, as the streetlights in the city cast through the window onto his torso, Shawn had hope. He had forgotten that lives went on outside the camps without him. The Earth was still circling on its course, day after day, as if he didn’t matter, like a speck of dust. Billboards and traffic noises—they didn’t exist in the same world as Shawn’s.

The car stopped at a corner house in a small town that was covered in Christmas decorations. Taylor dragged Shawn out by his arm, with the tarp still on his head. Opening the front door with a key, Taylor shoved him inside. Shawn had pictured a haunted evil house to suit this evil man. But the décor inside was typical middle-class American. Nothing stood out. Nothing could tip someone off this man’s cruelty.

Among arrays of pictures on the wall, Maxwell Taylor smiles toward the camera, pushing his daughter on a swing. At this, Shawn’s fists tightened. This wasn’t fair. He had never had the chance to push his son on a swing.

“Upstairs,” Taylor ordered, sounding less hasty now at the comfort of his own home.

With every step he took, his heart was added another ton of lead. He couldn’t be sure how much he could get away with before escaping. He tried not to bring Lassiter into his thought but failed nonetheless. _I’m not cheating, I’m not cheating,_ he claimed repeatedly in silence. As soon as they were both behind the bedroom door, Taylor invaded Shawn’s personal space. “I have to get you back before the morning roll call. So we better hurry, huh? If you try anything, I will shoot you. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.” Shawn was surprised by how calm he sounded.

Taylor removed every article of his own clothing and gazed at Shawn like he was a piece of meat in the butcher’s shop.

“It’s overall. You’ll have to uncuff me.”

Taylor reached his arms around Shawn and granted his wish all the while peering into his eyes. Shawn turned his head away. He would rather pretend it was a robot before him.

Taylor threw the cuffs onto the nightstand. The clunk jerked Shawn out of his numbness. He unbuttoned Shawn in one swift motion and pushed the overall and his underwear off him. Like a doll, Shawn stood there unmoving.

Shawn had closed his eyes again when he was press onto the mattress. How much he wished to spend a whole night on a soft mattress again. It felt like cloud, marshmallows, cotton candies. Taylor hovered above him and attacked his lips with a bruising kiss. He thrust his tongue inside after Shawn opened his mouth pliantly. He had to do this, to lower his defenses. _This has nothing to do with you, Lassie. How about you shut up?_

Taylor didn’t dwell on that act for very long. Kissing and cuddling—Shawn would be damned if they were what this monster was after.

He was flipped over onto his stomach like a sack of rice. The heavyweight on his back made his lungs hurt. Ragged breaths blew into his ear as an arm slipped under his chest.

The handcuffs shined beside Shawn’s head. Burying his head between Shawn’s neck and shoulder while biting into the flesh that smelled like disinfectant, Taylor reached blindly for them.

…

* * *

**THREE HOURS LATER**

Henry jerked awake. He was in a daze for a second, then he heard what had dragged him out of a dream filled with endless laughter but also sorrow. Felix’s wail came through the baby monitor. He could remember the dream clearly—Shawn was prancing around the station with Gus, doing another ridiculous psychic stunt. He sighed, padding over to Shawn’s old bedroom where Felix was staying for the night.

Lassiter was working late again and he would rather eat raw loaches than having the committee-assigned nanny stay with Felix alone. She was always there, listening, watching, and reporting. Now, she was asleep on Henry’s couch, relieved of her duty.

Felix’s shriek had quieted down when Henry reached the bedroom. Turning the doorknob, pushing the door open, his heartbeat halted. Next to the crib, a man in a dark sweater and a pair of old jeans with the bottoms of the legs rolled up was holding the baby in his arms and cooing with his back turned to the door.

“Shawn…” Henry called under his breath. He would have recognized his son no matter what, with or without his hair, with or without his smugness. This was his son. Unadulterated and very much intact.

Shawn turned, eyes glassier than Felix, and raised a trembling finger before his lips, gesturing him not to make too much sound. _It’s a secret, Dad_. He winked, a drop of tears slipped out despite himself.

Henry rushed to their side, pulling both of them into his arms. Words failed him. He had thought if he ever saw Shawn again, he would tell him straight away how much he had missed him and how much he loved him without an effort. But now, syllables were locked inside his throat. If this had been a dream like the one he had before, he would rather sleep forever and never wake up to see the real world again.

“I missed you too, Dad,” Shawn croaked out. Closing his eyes, he willed the burning tears to stay inside the damned sockets. He couldn’t break down then. It wasn’t the right moment. Breaking down meant breaking apart. He had to stay whole. Otherwise, who was going to hold Felix? “I can’t believe my baby’s this big now.”

“Me, neither.” Henry pulled away. He couldn’t wipe the smile off his face. Felix looked at both of them, no longer crying. “You escaped?”

“Yep.”

“How?”

“Does it matter?”

Henry eyed Shawn carefully under the moonlight, looking for external injuries not covered by the unfitting clothes. But except for tiredness, he found nothing. Rephrase—nothing worth addressing urgently. Those cuts and scrapes would heal, wouldn’t they?

“Dad, I’m fine. But I won’t be if I don’t get going. I have an hour and a half before the morning roll call. That means I have that much short till they find me missing in my room and declare me a fugitive. I can’t go back, Dad.” Shawn paused. He had so much to tell. He wanted to pour every bit of his suffering out, so Henry would know and shoulder his burden for him for a while. To be just a son, waiting to be taken care of, he would love that. Yet, he clamped up.

“What do you need, kid?” Henry asked.

“I remember one of your fishing buddies has a cabin in the woods. He goes there sometimes when he wants to stay away from people and doesn’t want to be found. You said it was reclusive—”

“Ronaldo’s secret retreat.”

“Right. I need a place to stay before I can come up with a plan. I can’t exactly stay here, especially near Fefe.”

Henry asked for the favor but didn’t tell Ronaldo what it was for. The fewer people knew, the safer his son would be. “There are surveillance cameras everywhere,” Henry told Shawn, his tone lecturing, “and armed men. You’ll need to be extra careful.”

“I noticed,” Shawn said. “That woman on your couch…”

“She’s an eye tossed to spy on Carlton and Felix.”

Hearing the name of his husband, Shawn’s lips turned into a thin line. “Say hi to him for me, will you? Tell him…No. Just ‘hi’ would be fine. I’m sure I’ll see him soon enough.”

Henry packed some necessities for Shawn in a suitcase when Shawn rocked the baby between his arms and chest, cheek to cheek, not letting go for mere seconds.

“How did you get here?” Henry asked, striking up a conversation to fill the silence even though this was far from what he wanted to say.

“I stole a car.”

“You could’ve called and I’ll arrange everything for you. If you knew Felix was here, you knew they’d be watching—” Henry noticed he was accusing after the words slipped out.

“I didn’t know Felix was here.”

“Then why did you come here?”

“Why do you think, Dad? You can’t think of a single reason?” Shawn finally put Felix down into the crib, who insisted on standing against the rail. Shawn plumped down on the edge of the bed that had accompanied him through ebb and flow, thick and thin throughout his childhood. This was his safe haven. And for him, his overbearing dad would always scare the storm away. Henry was his roof.

“I better get going,” Shawn said when Henry remained silent. But he was sure his dad understood.

Walking over to the crib, Shawn bent down and gave his son a last kiss on the forehead. “See you soon, Fefe. Love you to the moon and back. Wait for Papa just a little longer, okay?”

When Henry and Shawn took a final look at the room before closing the door, they both heard a distinctive “Papa” from Felix.

* * *

The next morning, the news came quickly that a camp had lost a student and a guard at that camp was found handcuffed to his bed naked after his neighbor saw a piece of paper telling her this man’s embarrassing situation. She contacted the police immediately. It didn’t make it to the newspaper, or the TV, or the internet. It was only a whisper on the street. But nothing was valued more than whispers on the street nowadays.

In the SBPD bullpen, Juliet told Lassiter the news. Lassiter called Henry.

“Is it Shawn?” Lassiter asked without a delay when Henry picked up.

There was a pause on the other side. “He says hi.”

“Is he at your place?” Lassiter lowered his voice even further.

“Of course not. Waiting for them to drag him away again? He’s not stupid.”

Lassiter didn’t know how to reply. Henry could feel the guilt of his former son-in-law tumbling out of the phone.

“He’s staying at a cabin. Look, I’ll give you the address when the time is right. And don’t go there unless you’re absolutely sure no one’s following you. We better wait until the heat dies down. Gus is at my place right now. I already told him.”

Hanging up, cold sweat broke out on Lassiter’s palms as he watched those two agents from the committee sauntering into the SBPD bullpen. He huffed. They had become patrons to his office since their first visit. To communicate—they always said. To intimidate—Lassiter already knew. _Here we go_.


End file.
